


He'd Never Call Him Dave

by marianrose



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marianrose/pseuds/marianrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky thinks that Hutch is saying and doing some weird things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He'd Never Call Him Dave

They were going to head down the coast for a much-needed long weekend. Starsky didn’t want to waste time. He drove straight home after work, grabbed his duffle bag and packed for swimming, golf, and relaxing on the beach. He zipped the bag closed just five minutes later and was pleased that he even remembered socks this time. He grabbed his jacket and clubs on the way out the door. 

Hutch was still packing an hour after Starsky arrived at Hutch’s new apartment in Venice to pick him up. Starsky gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head, wondering if Hutch really expected to use the brown sports jacket and the pants with the crease he had laid out on the bed. 

“You gotta be kiddin’ me. Sports jacket? No way I’m dressin’ up on this trip!” Starsky followed Hutch from the bedroom to the kitchen. 

“Catch!” Hutch tossed Starsky the Scrabble game he kept on one of the shelves behind the table.

“And what do we need this for?” Starsky caught it one-handed.

“It might rain tomorrow," Hutch shrugged. "If it does, we’ll need some indoor entertainment".

Starsky loved it when Hutch served up a big, fat, slow pitch right in the center of the plate. He had to swing at this one.

“I think we should try a whole new type of indoor entertainment this weekend,” Starsky moved in front of Hutch. He set the game down, fixed a suggestive gaze on his partner and ran a hand around Hutch’s waist.

Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Hutch swore and shoved passed Starsky.

“I’m just saying I’d be willing to entertain you indoors, in ways that don’t require boards and dice.” Starsky tried to keep just enough seriousness in his tone as Hutch strode by. 

He had been teasing Hutch for two weeks about them having sex, ever since Hutch had told Starsky he loved him. They had been at Starsky’s place commiserating about a suicide victim they couldn’t talk down, one they had watched die in the street earlier that night. Hutch had held the young man in his arms, helpless to stem the bleeding. 

Afterward, while they had sat on the couch in Starsky’s living room drinking, Starsky had let Hutch say all the angry, frustrated, repentant words that came out of him agonizingly, one after the other. When the words turned sorrowful, Starsky had embraced him and said all the earnest, proud, noble words he knew to help Hutch see things the way he did. 

It must have helped because Hutch had smiled and had gently touched Starsky’s head, telling Starsky that he loved him. He told him how he never felt closer to another human being.

_Weird_ , Starsky thought. But when Starsky had examined that idea more closely, he couldn’t come up with anyone he loved more than Hutch either. This could have been due, in large part, to the booze he’d consumed, which made it damn hard to remember whom else he knew anyway. Or, it could have been the fact that the last person Starsky thought he might love left him with a lousy “Dear Dave” note taped to his door and a postcard a week later from Disneyland, with a giant headed Mickey Mouse on the front and “I’ll always remember you fondly” written neatly on the back.

Hutch would never do that. He’d never call him Dave and he’d never leave him. 

Hutch hadn’t said much after his profession of love. He had just sat there, gazing longingly at Starsky, or maybe the room was spinning before Hutch’s eyes and he was about to puke. Either way, Starsky had figured he should say something and so he reached into the thoughts buzzing around his inebriated brain and said the first one he grabbed hold of. 

“You want to have sex with me?” Starsky asked.

It had surprised both of them, instantly changing the mood. Hutch slowly rolled from the couch onto the floor, groaning. Starsky worried that Hutch’s look had been the puking, not the longing one. But before he got the chance to yell at Hutch not to hurl in the living room, they had started laughing. Starsky soon discovered that they were laughing over the idea of the two of them being in love and the resulting hot sex that would follow.

Starsky had greatly preferred the laughing to the gut wrenching angst. He had a quick wit. So naturally, he had gotten onto the “us having sex” bandwagon and had delivered some great one-liners and clever innuendo in the days since then. Evidently, however, these jokes were now starting to wear thin.

Starsky heard Hutch slam the bathroom door with more force than necessary and he felt a surprising amount of hostility in Hutch’s wake wash over him. He decided he better lay off the jokes for a while and wondered when they had lost favor with Hutch. He usually got the teasing just right, but this time, it felt like he had missed a cue somewhere.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.” Hutch emerged from the bathroom over four minutes later according to Starsky’s watch.

Starsky checked as Hutch retrieved his bags from the bedroom, smirking when he noted the ridiculous sports coat and creased pants were left behind on the bed. He jogged over to the kitchen counter, picked up a grocery sack containing their soda and chips for the road, stuffed the Scrabble game in the bag, and hurried after Hutch who was heading for the door.

“Finally!” Starsky complained one last time about Hutch’s slow packing rituals. 

When they got to the door, Hutch suddenly turned back. Starsky’s forward momentum stopped when his face banged into Hutch’s shoulder.

“What now?” Starsky demanded.

“Forgot my pajamas."

“I ain’t your mother, Hutch. You don’t need em.” Starsky pushed Hutch toward the door, nudging him with the sack, trying to get him to move along.

“I love you too much, Starsky, to taunt you all night with my naked body,” Hutch said, not moving and inch.

Starsky stopped pushing and looked at Hutch with a grin. Maybe Hutch wasn’t tired of the jokes after all.

“Is that a joke about us having sex?”

“Yes, Starsky, it’s an “us having sex” joke. I’m joking now.” Hutch was smiling, but it was a strangely soft smile. 

Hutch added, “This time. I’m joking _this_ time.”

“Huh,” Starsky replied, not at all sure of the proper comeback. 

Hutch turned and walked out, hauling his bags and clubs down to the car.

_Weird_ , Starsky thought again. He didn’t mind Hutch teasing him, or taunting him, or challenging him or whatever the hell he was doing. He could talk to Hutch about anything, jokingly or seriously, anytime, anywhere. But, that look on Hutch’s face just then, was saying something too. And Starsky wasn’t sure what it was. Not knowing was unsettling _and weird_. 

Starsky pulled Hutch’s apartment door locked behind him and headed to his car, stone cold sober. Starsky got in, put the sack in the back seat and started her up. Just before he pulled away, he looked over at Hutch. It was the weirdest thing yet when Hutch looked back. There wasn’t any teasing or taunting or challenging in that space between them now. Instead, there was only a question. Hutch had put it there and it was waiting for his reply. 

The answer came to him without hesitation. It surprised the hell out of him but once the answer came, there was no way to retrieve it. It was already out there, in that space between them. He tried to take it back. But it was too late. Hutch already knew. He was about to panic when Hutch gave him that soft smile again.

“Let’s get going, Starsk. And don’t forget to stay off of Lincoln Boulevard. They’re still doing construction there,” Hutch said.

Hutch reached behind for the grocery bag. “You want your soda yet?”

Starsky turned back, checked for traffic and set the car in motion. 

“Nah, I’ll have it later." Right now he needed to focus on the road. 

“OK, just let me know when,” Hutch replied.

_Not yet. Not for a long time_ , Starsky thought to himself. Not for a very, very long time.


End file.
